


A Likeness of You

by Hopeless ships (The_Danish_Biscuit)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist!Stiles, Artists, Drawing, Falling In Love, Fluff, Portraits, Werewolf Mates, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Danish_Biscuit/pseuds/Hopeless%20ships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is quick to notice that taking photos of werewolves can be a bit tricky, at least if you want to see their eyes and not have the whole image ruined by the flare from their eyes. Now Stiles for one would very much like to have photos of the chaotic group of friends that is slowly becoming his family and preferably some where it doesn't look like most of them have fallen asleep.<br/>Being Stiles he quickly comes up with a plan, he begins to draw again and preserves them all forever in graphite and paper.</p><p>What his plan hadn't involved was a hidden sketchbook under his bed filled with drawings of Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to cope with the pain that is season 3 so far, please enjoy ;)

It all started when Stiles noticed that the flare of Scott’s eyes destroyed every picture he took of him. Well, all of those where he opened his eyes that’s was. Stiles decided that he didn’t want an entire life without pictures of his best friend or at least not only pictures where he closed his eyes. He had more than enough embarrassing sleepy Scott pictures to last a lifetime due to Scott’s ability to sleep anywhere if only tired enough. He didn’t need an entire life worth of memories only to have it look like Scott was sleeping though it all. Imagine the graduations photos, or prom. No, something had to be done about it because pictures were important, and if there was anyone who knew how important it was to have physical reminders of people it was Stiles.

The picture of his mom, from before her body turned on her and the chemo and cancer’s battle sucked the life out of her, that was standing on his nightstand was one of the most important objects in his life. Sometimes he would stare at it for hours before falling asleep, reminding himself of the way she smiled and how her eyes changed color depending on her mood, grey when she was sad and bright blue when she was happy, filling in the little details that was slipping away from his memories, slowly worn away by time. He was terrified of forgetting even the slightest detail. And with the constant fear of losing one of the werewolves he was slowly beginning to think of as family, he knew he had to think of something fast. 

If he lost one of them he needed that little piece of physical evidence proving their existence. 

Stiles, being the genius he thought he was, decided to start drawing again. He had drawn a lot when he was younger and had been really talented (or so people told him) but as he got older the ADHD had made it impossible to focus properly on it, his limps and mind to restless to focus on drawing as well as school, and once he started on the Adderall, well, there had been other stuff to steal his time and doodles in the margin of his notebooks was all that was left. 

With a plan I mind Stiles took the money his crazy aunt in Arizona sent him for his birthday and went to town, or rather to the local craft shop. Upon his return he was loaded down by sketchbooks in various sizes, pencils, both color and graphite and whatever else had caught his attention. (that book about nude drawing was an absolute must mind you.) 

And then he began. It was hard starting up again his hands didn’t want to do what his mind was asking and his fingers were stiff and uncooperative. The entire first sketchbook was straight for the bin, though Stiles just buried it in the back of the closet hoping he would never ever have too look at it again. 

But after some time his natural talent started to shine through and by the third sketchbook he was able to catch even the smallest details of his friends and he started his plan for real. Scott was naturally his first victim. He drew him sitting in class sneaking glances at his phone a content smile on his face, in lacrosse gear hair tousled and with a victorious smile as they won state and even wolfed out. Then he stared to add his other friends to the drawings. Boyd, Erica and Isaac sitting outside waiting for Derek and Scott and Alison cuddled up on the couch, even a little drawing of Derek, leaning against the Camaro as he waited for Isaac one late afternoon. 

The book was now a constant companion, always just within reach. He had gotten some curious looks in the beginning when he would all of the sudden pull out a pencil and start to sketch in the middle of lunch. To Stiles surprise drawing calmed him, the flutter of his hands as he dragged the pencil over the paper made him focus and as he concentrated partly on the lines he created his mind couldn't run as fast as it used too. 

It was nice being almost normal for once. 

Unfortunately the wolves had all grown rather curious after Stiles started to smell of paper and graphite and could more often that not be seen completely absorbed in his own world.(To stiles defense the shading was really not something you could do half-assed and so what if Mr Harris didn't agree that chemistry was the right time to do it.) Scott had made it a personal mission to try and see the drawings but Stiles, being a man of stealth and grace, was a master of avoiding curious werewolves. Or rather he was getting pretty damn good at slamming the book shut and running away every time he felt them lurking. 

Did he mention that he was getting better at track? He was now way ahead of Greenberg. Not that there was any fairness when most of the team was werewolves. Cheating bastards.

 

* * *

  

Stiles was hanging out with the rest of the wolves and the humans attached in Derek’s loft (because Stiles had finally managed to tell him that a abandoned train depot wasn’t a place to live, certainly not now he was Isaac’s guardian) catching a movie late one Friday night. Danny was busy texting this guy he had his eyes on and Jackson was pretty much swallowing Lydia’s face in on of the loveseats. 

Stiles couldn’t but wonder when the sight had stopped hurting. Because awhile back after the whole Kanima thing he had been heartbroken. Now there was nothing but fond friendship for Lydia and reluctant friendship with Jackson. (Though both he and Jackson would deny that until the day they died. Everything else would create a paradox of so epic proportions that The Doctor would be needed to save the day.) 

Erica and Boyd were curled up in one corner of the over sized couch (that Stiles had definitely not made derek buy because it was so comfy Stiles had almost taken a nap on it in the store) and Scott and Allison was curled up in the other. Isaac was sitting on the floor between them, Erica’s hand drifting trough his hair and Scott’s hand on his shoulder. 

Stiles’ heart hurt a little at the look of content spreading on the young man’s face. He hated that no one had seen the hell Isaac was going through. Well except Derek, Stiles mused his eyes turning to the man in question as he sat in a big chair on the outskirts of the group. 

And for the first time he allowed himself to study him, like an artist (or that was what he told himself at least). And for the first time he saw Derek as something other than the big alpha that had gone from being a complete jerk to someone Stiles could respect, no longer a stern dictator but now a sort of role model for the teens.

He studied he sharp cheekbones, the hard lines of his body, how the soft cotton of his shirt clung to the muscles of his chest, how the slight stubble made his jaw even shaper, made him look older in a way but most of all he tried to study the mesmerizing eyes hidden under the ever-frowning eyebrows. 

He was gorgeous Stiles suddenly discovered, as a blush flooded his cheeks. 

And as he started to really look he couldn’t stop. He stared at every line and curve of Derek eyes skittering all over him in some desperate attempt to memorize every single little detail of Derek. He was so consumed by his own thoughts he hadn’t even noticed the eyes he was staring at was staring right back. 

“Stiles!” Derek snapped forcefully pulling Stiles out of his observations. 

“Huh?” was Stiles impressive answer. 

“Stop staring,” Derek sneered. Stiles could feel the others eyes on him “Oh I was just wondering when your face got stuck that way dude,” Stiles gestured in Derek’s general direction, “all frowny and such. Really my father won’t arrest you if you smile,” Stiles said with a smirk hoping no one would notice the blush still burning in his cheeks or the lie lingering in his words. 

“Oh would you look at the time I gotta run,” he grabbed his backpack and ran for the door. 

“But I thought we all slept here?” Scott yelled confused. 

“Erh yeah, but I promised my dad I would be there tomorrow, gotta run,” and then Stiles was gone, rushing down to his car, missing how Derek’s eyes never left him. Even long after the door closed he stared at the door, eyes never returning to the movie playing loudly on the screen. 

Stiles waited until he was home in his bed, alone in the dark, before he started to freak out. He had known he was bisexual for a long time. While he had always believed Lydia to be his one true love there had been boys who’s looks had lingered in Stiles’ thoughts and had featured the occasional leading role in the fantasies playing through Stiles’ mind during private Stiles time. So it wasn’t the fact that he was attracted to a man that made his heart stutter with panic. 

No, it was solely that man in question that made him want to hide under his bed.

Derek had never ever been part of Stiles’ fantasies. He had always been just a little too much out of reach for someone like Stiles. Not that Stiles thought he was bad looking, quite the opposite but Derek was still in a totally other league, (and most likely straight). He had always been too imposing (or too much of an ass) to even allow thoughts of in those heated moments. More over he never ever took the time to look properly at him n that way, because there had been neither time nor reason. 

But now Stiles was running through every memory he had of the man, lingering on the times he had seen more than the face of the man that had captured his attention so horribly. He tried to cast it away as being artistic fascination. Anyone knew that creative people liked interesting subjects and Derek sure was one. He was simply fascinated. Well, at least it sounded good, because not even Stiles were able to buy that particular lie. 

Because it really wasn’t just his looks, there were so many little details of Derek that Stiles liked. The way Derek would look when he tried not to smile at Stiles’ antics or when his mind was running so fast his words came out all jumbled and no one could follow, how he was always trying to be the big stern alpha and then surrendering to his packs wiles without much of a fight. (They were still very proud of the enormous flat screen they got him to buy and the sound system that followed.) He liked how Derek was very quiet and reserved preferring night in, but when asked would never say no to an outing with the pack, knowing it would make them happy. 

He thought of how Derek had grown to trust him and Scott, suddenly listening when Stiles spoke, the sharp eyes watching him like a hawk. The way he had looked when they decorated the loft carrying one of the love seats all alone, handling it like it was nothing more than a funnily shaped empty box than the award heavy piece of furniture it was. (And yes it was heavy Stiles had tried to lift it and almost hurt himself.) He thought of him clad only in worn skintight jeans, shirtless and covered in paint splatters (cutesy of a playful Erica) throwing his head back in laughter (showing of a delectable expanse of throat Stiles might add) when Stiles had accidently tripped over a can of paint and had somehow managed to fall _and_ pour the content of the can all over himself. 

He could feel himself swelling despite the slightly embarrassing memory, his jeans tightening, holding him in. He couldn’t believe that there was so much about Derek that fascinated him without him being fully aware. And now he was trapped in the recollection of Derek helping him up from the floor, those big muscular arms and the wide hard expanse of chest and the smile so carefree and soft as he had ruffled Stiles’ hair and clapped his shoulder, shortly pressing their side together as he pushed Stiles towards the bathroom. 

It was wrong, he shouldn’t indulge himself like this, letting his mind play with Derek this way, but he couldn’t help himself. 

In a rush he had his pants down, underwear pushed out of the way and the achingly relief of a hand around his straining cock. As he jerked himself off in long slow movements he allowed his mind to revel in images of Derek and what would have happened that day if they hadn’t been just friends. 

Would they have ended up on the floor, Derek losing the pants after Stiles had smeared them with paint, himself losing his own paint ruined clothes along the way. How Derek would hold him close and move over his body, the sharp intelligent eyes staring into his and – Jesus Christ- his mouth and the things it would have done to him. 

Afterwards he lay, sweaty and cum spattered, gasping once more staring at the ceiling (and the small glowing stars his mother had placed there when he was little and that Stiles hadn’t had the heart to remove since) mentally beating himself over the head, because being attracted to Derek freaking Hale sure as hell wasn’t on his to do list. He decided he needed to sleep and forget the whole thing happened and ignore it. He was good at ignoring things. As he had just proved by discovering that he had had a crush on Derek for months. 

But once he had cleaned up and was dressed in nothing but clean boxers and a tangled sheet he couldn’t sleep. He twisted and turned trying to ignore the twitch in his fingers and the many poses of Derek he needed to get on paper. 

Giving up he grabbed the sketchbook on the nightstand and turned the lights on. 

When he finally fell asleep hours later his hands was grey form the graphite and the book was filled with pages and pages of Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a one-shot that kind of took over and became really long, so now I've spit it up. This is unbetaed and Im not a native speaker so i apologize for any mistakes, if you find anyone too grave please say so I can fix them.
> 
> If you ever want to you can find me on tumbler Im also hopeless-ships over there and I also on occasion spread nonsense on twitter...


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles had hoped that he would've gotten Derek out of his mind that night. He should have with all the drawings he had ended up with. (The morning after had been very interesting.) But since this was Stiles' life he of course had no such luck. Instead he just thought more and more about Derek and he was soon the sole star during Stiles’ alone time. Not a fact that Stiles approved of but damn he couldn’t get that damn jaw line out of his mind, or those abs, or the eyes and well he had to remember the arms.

Okay so Derek was one big walking wank fantasy. Stiles might as well admit that one. And wanting to jump him was one thing; Stiles could handle it if it was only that. God how Stiles would wish it was only sexual attraction and not one of those horrible words much better suited for a chick flight that summed up his feelings (yes multiple, as in too fucking many) for Derek.

To be honest beside the barest necessary functions Stiles’ entire mind sole focus is on everything Derek. Was he eating properly, what was he doing, that shirt look like it was painted on him, so does those jeans, God he’s cute when he does that frowny thing while he reads and it did stop with that. Every single thing Derek did fascinated Stiles to a point that was alarming. (Actually it was way above alarming, it was down right terrifying.)

Though he tried to remind himself Derek was straight and this crush (because it was just a fucking crush dammit) was more pointless that the one he had on Lydia it didn’t help. At all!

The sketchbook (now firmly hidden underneath the bed like the filthy piece of work it was) was filled with drawings of Derek some in shades of grey other in clear sharp colors capturing the unique green color of his eyes. Most of them were very far from being PG, featuring Derek in some positions that made Stiles ’ cheeks burn as he drew them. Lets just say that Stiles had very healthy lively imagination and he sure wasn’t afraid of using it for his own pleasure.

In other words Stiles was screwed and not in the fun way. (Though Derek was involved in both scenarios, because as of now stiles could not imagine ever wanting to sleep with anybody but Derek.)

It didn’t help that Stiles knew how Derek felt like beneath him. That he knew the strength and power in the arms and the warmth of his hands. That his body could perfectly recall how Derek had felt pressed tightly up against Stiles. Now he could only curse matt and that damn Kanima even more.

What Stiles had succeeded in was staying away from Derek though (one small victory in a sea of failures if you asked Stiles). Now that he knew he was desperately attracted to him in a way he had never been to Lydia or anyone before he didn’t dare spend anytime with the man (he might accidently jump him). Worst of all was that now Stiles had been forced by his own treacherous body to realize it he (had a crush on, for god’s sake- oh, who was he even kidding) was in love with Derek.

It had hit him like a flight train one night after he had spent hours trying to capture the annoyed yet strangely fond look Derek always looked at Stiles with.

He wanted more than just getting laid, he wanted the whole deal. Boyfriends and double dates with a bitching Scott and giggling Allison and long nights in each other’s arms, coming to the cinema and not seeing the movie because they were making out in the back row, outings with the pack, holding Derek’s hand when ever he wanted to. He wanted nothing less than a lifetime with the man.

He had been infatuated with Derek since before the pool he just never wanted to admit it. The hours they had sometimes spent talking when Scott needed help or trying to figure out what to do with the Kanima after matt died all looked so different to Stiles now.

But he was starting to understand how love could have burned the Kanima out of Jackson. Because if Jackson had felt even half of what Stiles felt like after he had opened that box labeled ‘feelings for Derek’ (Yuck) then there had simply been no room for the Kanima’s hate.

It still baffled him that all it had taken was for Lydia to step in and claim Jackson as her mate. (Not that Stiles thought he was Derek’s mate, no way. That was something only the wolves could feel. And Lydia could figure out it seemed. Damn sometimes her mind was scary.) The true wolf part had apparently won recognizing its true mate out and left him a pretty ordinary wolf. Not that stopped Stiles calling him lizard man.

Stiles had even drawn the Kanima and hung it on the inside of his locker at school. Going by the glares he’d gotten the week following Jackson had no doubt about the identity of the artist behind the drawing. Stiles had just made sure he hadn’t been alone with Jackson ever since.

Better to be on the safe side, he wasn’t that fast a runner.

But since this was Beacon Hills and Stiles was a member of a pack of werewolves, life wasn’t meant to be as quiet as it had been the last two weeks sine the incident (Calling it the movie night of sexual doom was a little dramatic, even for Stiles). Naturally mysterious murders started to happen all over Beacon Hills leaving every one baffled (as was custom by now) as to what in the world could kill people by suffocating them with flowers growing from there throat.

Very bizarre going by the pictures Stiles stole from his dad (Seriously daisies should not be spouting from peoples mouths like that).

This of course meant hours at Derek’s loft trying to find the reason, or at least a little clue as to who would give their victims such a flowery death. For once the murder had a sense for timing and the murders happed happened during the summer vacation (thankfully) so Stiles had time on his hands (For once he didn’t have to juggle supernatural crime fighting with homework. It was heaven).

Unfortunately Derek too had a lot of time on his hands and was very willing to help Stiles and the others out instead of being the big busy alpha he usually was. Not good if you asked Stiles who was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his arousal hidden from the other wolves while being close to Derek. So far it had worked, but it was just a matter of time. The last few days had been nothing but torture for Stiles who tried too keep a lid on his rebellious feelings. Now they were out of the box there was apparently now getting them back in. No matter how much he ignored them.

“Found anything yet?” Derek asked from over Stiles ’ shoulder as Stiles tried to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. (Pretending to be startled better damn work.)

“I think we’re dealing with a vindictive wood nymph,” Stiles muttered, “If you look at the victims they have all either been camping or hiking it the same area of the forest. According to the bestiary wood nymphs are very territorial and once they settle they kill anything daring to trespass. Honestly this thing is making you guy’s seem cuddly.”

“Well Isaac is cuddly,” Lydia said looking up from the book on theoretical mathematics she had declared her light summer reading.

“Well alpha boy here isn’t,” Stiles replied returning back to the bestiary hoping for some magical solution that didn’t involve killing anyone.

“How do you know I'm not cuddly,” Derek suddenly said making Stiles jump. Derek was leaning over him, his face mere inches from Stiles ’ and Stiles couldn’t help himself his eyes just couldn’t look away from those lips. They were just there, just within reach. All it would take was for Stiles to lean over and kiss them.

“Stiles?!” Derek snapped make reason return momentarily.

“A wh- what?” Stiles said trying to calm his heart down.

“I asked how do you know I'm not cuddly?” Derek repeated looking straight into Stiles ’ eyes.

“I just assumed it was against alpha law you know. Alpha must be brooding and dangerous, alpha mustn’t smile, must slam innocent humans heads into steering wheel’s and so on.”

“The steering wheel was one time and you deserved that and I'm not brooding,” Derek scuffed.

“Yes you are. Had this been one of those book Allison likes to read you would have been the big brooding hero all the girls would sigh over while he rescue the damsel in distress.”

“And who would be the damsel in distress then,” Derek said trying to hide a smile.

“Stiles,” Lydia said from the other end of the couch.

“I wouldn’t,” Stiles huffed.

“You’re weird, clumsy and have a tendency to get into trouble Derek then have to save you from. Add to that that you are very good at dealing with the supernatural and have a penchant for saving the day in your own roundabout way. Definitely the heroine of the story,” she smiled deviously over the top of her book.

“Liar,” Stiles said trying not to panic.

“Plus you and Derek would make a pretty attractive couple.” Stiles was now left only sputtering his protest while Derek just looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights, a sight that might under normal circumstances would have Stiles on the floor laughing. (But right now he was kind of busy trying to make the ground swallow him whole.)

Thankfully they were interrupted by the rest of the gang (as Stiles called it much to Derek’s chagrin) filled into the loft in their usually ruckus of yelling and pushing each other around.

“What’s wrong with Stiles?” Scott asked sniffing the air.

“Nothing!” Stiles squeaked.

“I'm just saying that Derek and Stiles would make a very nice couple,” Lydia said calmly kissing Jackson hello as he plunked down next to her.

“They would,” Erica laughed.

“Yeah,” said Allison, “I can see that.”

“No way,” muttered Scott looking from Derek to Stiles critically.

“Ha got it,” Isaac yelled zooming past the coffee table grabbing something. Stiles looked slightly horrified as Isaac started to leaf through the sketchbook, thank some divine power that it was the one for polite company and not the private one he had at home.

“Give that back,” Stiles yelled jumping of the couch going after Isaac that just moved out of the way.

“Stiles did you draw these,” he asked in wonder.

“Give it back right now,” Stiles shouted running after Isaac. Did he mention he was only mediocre at running compared to the werewolves? (Cheaters the lot of them)

“These are amazing. Look Erica that’s you,” Isaac ran across the room and Stiles could only watch as everyone ran over trying to look at the drawing he had been so good at keeping hidden.

“Oh my god that’s me,” Isaac said with wonder looking at Stiles with big eyes.

“Did none of you know Stiles was drawing us,” Lydia commented dryly looking at the bewildered group of friends who where leafing trough Stiles sketch book, all expression wonder every time they passed a drawing of them self.

“How did you know?” Scott asked looked a little hurt at Lydia.

“He drew Jackson as the Kanima awhile ago. I had it framed and hung on his wall so he can remember what happens when he isn’t with the one he belongs too.” That explained why Jackson hadn’t killed him Stiles mused.

“It was a joke and I hoped to piss him off,” Stiles scoffed at Scott as he continued to look like a kicked poppy. “ I was just trying to make sure I could remember you since we are often under attack from the various types of supernatural creatures like we are right now. So will you please give me back my sketchbook before I regret drawing any of you” Stiles huffed.

Reluctantly Isaac handed over the book and Stiles almost ripped it from him. Derek was looking at him with big eyes and Stiles didn’t dare stare back.

“Now excuse me I need to go now,” Stiles said before he fled the loft.

 

* * *

 

It took a few days to return to the loft and when he did it was to help prepare the wolves. With a little help form Lydia a ritual had been found that would bind the wood nymph’s power to the land making it unable to kill any more people. Unfortunately it was dangerous and Derek had had an alpha shown down of proportions humans had declared they wanted to come along and help.

So Danny, Allison Lydia and Stiles all stayed in the loft waiting for their respective mates and friends to return. Stiles had dared to bring his sketchbook along with him again (it was kind of pointless t keep the others away from the drawings by now anyway. Now it was only it one under the bed that had to stay a secret) and he was busy drawing Derek as he had looked leaning against the table.

There was something about that silent authoritative yet open expression that punched Stiles in the chest every time he saw it. It had made his fingers itch for the feeling of the pencil and the paper. He was shading Derek’s jawline when Allison sat down beside him.

“They are really good Stiles. I don’t know why you don’t want us to see them,” she said. He stopped the smooth movement of the pencil and looked up at her

“They are personal I guess. This is how I see you and how I want to remember you. It’s silly perhaps but I just wanted to keep them to myself I guess.” Stiles sighed looking away.

“I know this is a huge favor but do you think I can get one of Scott. I hate that all the pictures I have of him are with his eyes closed,” Allison muttered quietly.

Stiles looked at her surprised. “Of course. Actually here,” Stiles said leafing trough the book pulling out a few pages, “I have a book full with drawings at him at home so you can have these.“ He gave her a few with scot laughing, one of Isaac and Scott messing about and finally one of the two of the sitting close talking quietly on a bench outside the school.

“Thank you Stiles they are perfect,” Allison smiled holding the papers like they were made of glass.

“I like how you draw Derek,” she said. Stiles looked at her a little confused before following her eyes catching one of the drawings of Derek. He must have revealed it when he pulled one of the other pages out of the book. Derek was sitting on the couch here in the loft reading a book, his face relaxed and open. He looked younger. It was one of Stiles favorites because you hardly ever saw Derek just relax.

“You like him don’t you,” she asked looking back up at Stiles who kept silent afraid of messing up if he opened his mouth.

“You know he likes you too right,” Allison continued.

“Derek doesn’t just like Stiles he totally lost. Man keeps staring every time he can get away with it.” Danny added looking up from his phone, boyfriend was on vacation and they seemed to have some separation problems. “Though I totally get why you have a cute ass,” Danny grinned at Stiles offended expression.

They didn’t get any further as the wolves suddenly burst through the door, Stiles did a quick head count and was relived when he saw they were all there, but the relief was brief when he saw Derek being held up by Isaac and Scott.

“Oh my god! Derek!” Stiles yelled getting up sketchbook forgotten on the couch.

“He’s fine,” Scott said, ”or he will be when he heals up,” he added at Allison doubting expression.

“What happened?” Danny asked as they dragged Derek to the bed in the corner (Another item that Stiles had definitely not made Derek buy. Nope, he had just pushed Derek to try the bed. Because that was the most comfy bed Stiles had ever had the pleasure to lie on). Stiles were busy pushing people out of the way not liking to see any other hand than his own on Derek. As soon as Derek was horizontal on the bed Stiles started to cut the shirt open using the scissors Lydia had just given him.

“Derek my man you sure know how to up the drama on a Tuesday night don’t you,” Stiles said as he pulled the blood soaked fabric away.

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Derek muttered tiredly, eyes half closed as he stared at Stiles.

“The nymph was weirdly enough very unhappy about being bound to a three and decided to take her anger out on Isaac here, only Derek got in the way. We managed to bind her while she was distracted. Only she got he claws pretty deep in Derek beforehand.” Erica said from the other side of the bed.

“Claws? She had claws?” Stiles looked up at her slightly horrified and Erica just nodded as a bowl of hot water and a towel was pushed into Stiles hands.

Without thinking he started to clean the blood of Derek. It looked worse than it was and Stiles could already see the wounds healing, the torn flesh knitting together seamlessly, leaving no trace of the injury. Still Stiles didn’t stop worrying for a single second.

“The nymphs can’t use magic on other magic creatures so she had to use her backup defenses,” Boyd said pulling Erica closer.

“Derek you can’t do this,” Stiles muttered.

“Had to save Isaac, I heal faster” Derek said sleepy.

“Werewolves and your stupid advanced hearing,” Stiles cursed making Derek crack a tiny tired smile.

“Stay,” Derek suddenly whispered grabbing at Stiles’ hand and stopping him from removing the last remnants of blood from his chest.

“Not going anywhere,” Stiles said looking straight at Derek.

“Good,” Derek whispered as he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles didn’t get much sleep that night, the other wolves curled up in a pile next to the bed using spare mattresses and pillows as their bed. (Again one of those things that Stiles had not been involved in. Because suggesting that the wolves might like to be able to have a puppy pile after the full moon sure wasn’t forcing Derek to buy a bunch of loose mattresses and enough pillows to build a house sized pillow fort. Absolutely not!)

At any other given time Stiles would curl up with them given that the craved physical affection and nothing beat a big pile of cuddling werewolves, even if Derek only sat on the edge observing.

But tonight he didn’t want to leave Derek, he couldn’t. A big part of him was drawn to him and just the thought of leaving the bed to go cuddle with the others made his gut twist uncomfortably. It felt like every cell in his body protested at the mere thought of being separated from Derek for more than a few seconds. 

Derek still looked dangerously pale against the dark blue bedding, as he slept peacefully. Thankfully (for the health stiles poor heart) his color was slowly flooding back into his cheeks and he was starting to move a little around in his sleep as if he was dreaming. Stiles put a hand on Derek’s chest and he sighed in his sleep his body going lax beneath Stiles palm, like Stiles had chased whatever made him restless away with his mere touch. 

“What am I doing Derek. I can’t go and fall in love with you now,” Stiles whispered quietly. Because he was way past the point of no return (and there was a limit to how much you could lie to yourself Stiles had discovered.) That line had been grossed in the split second Stiles had thought Derek might be dying right before his eyes. (Stiles would never forget the sight of Derek hanging lifeless and bloody between Isaac and Scott. Just like the image of Derek lying lifeless on Deaton’s floor was branded into his mind for all eternity.) 

“And what would you want with a scrawny teenager whose only defense is sarcasm.” Stiles sighed letting his hand drift up Derek’s chest feeling the muscles move slightly beneath his palm as he breathed. He was so beautiful, Stiles mused, even worn out and pale. 

He was everything Stiles wanted and everything he couldn’t have.

Before Stiles could change his mind he leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against Derek’s forehead. It was a brief kiss, no longer than a few seconds. But to Stiles i was everything.

With a sigh and an aching heart (damn he really was beginning to sound like a heroine from one of Allison’s books) he pulled away. He felt bad of kissing derek while he was unconscious but it was all he would ever be allowed to have.  

Stiles moved out of the bed, steadily ignoring the nauseating twist of his guts. There was no time for doubt he needed to move while everyone was still asleep and before he changed his mind and lost his resolve. He needed to get away, and he needed to get away now before he gave in to every screaming desire and kissed Derek on the lips instead. 

He grabbed his bag and left the loft as quietly as he could, sending one last long lingering look back over his shoulder towards the bed where Derek was still sleeping quietly. He couldn’t stay. Not if he valued the small fragment of his heart that still belonged to him and not the unconscious man on the bed. 

The sun was just starting to rise as he locked himself into his home. His dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway so he must have the early shift at the station. Somehow Stiles was happy about the solitude. He went to his room and lost his clothes there was blood on his shirt so he spent some time trying to rinse it out. (Without much luck. Another piece for the bin in the names of the supernatural.) 

When there were no more menial chores to occupy Stiles’s restless limbs he sat down on his bed only clad in a pair of boxers. He tried to dress but any kind of clothes felt suffocating and with the nausea still very much present he just discarded the idea of clothes. (He was home alone anyway so what did it really matter.)

He tried to sleep but his hands were twitching with the need to draw. What had started as a way to create physical memories of his friends had become his way to cope with it all. With an annoyed sigh he threw the covers off. Hammering his hand down into his pillow to keep himself from shouting, or crying. Stiles did really know anymore. 

Stiles pulled out the ‘secret’ sketchbook and leafed through it his body heating at the sight of some of the drawings. He really was pretty good and his imagination had no problems imagining the parts of Derek he hadn’t seen. 

There were only a few pages left in the book and Stiles decided he needed to finish them, whatever he chose to draw now needed to be that last.  After this he would stop, put it to rest. Never let his mind go there with Derek ever again. It wasn’t healthy to think of Derek like this, to imagine him like this bordering on the pornografic (Okay sometimes not just bordering, shush.)

Really it was creepy to have dusins of drawings of Dereks laughing, sleeping and eating jerking off, showering.. well you get the picture). Dammit Stiles was becoming a stalker with a sketchbook (Erhh or maybe he was a stalker but really could you blame him?)

He needed a clean break if he ever wanted to get over Derek.

Stiles kicked a pillow across the room, because God why should he always fall for the unreachable one. Lydia was one thing but Derek. 

Derek was the epitome of impossible and hopelessness. 

Allison and Danny knew nothing. They didn’t know Derek like Stiles did. Stiles had seen him at his worst and at his best. They hated each other until one day they were friends. Well until Stiles had to go and mess it all up in his head. 

As he was lost in his own mind the pencil started to glide over the paper, the graphite rasping against the textured surface, the lines soon becoming Derek sleeping, a perfect likeness of the scene he had just left back in the loft. 

The sun continued to rise outside his room getting brighter and soon filling the room with golden light. Stiles didn’t notice as he finished the last drawing in the book. It was the only drawing to feature himself. (He really wasn’t into self portraits. Why would he capture the idiot staring back him in the mirror every morning.) 

On the paper you could see Derek, a rare smile on his face as he looked out from the page right at the viewer. His arms were folded around Stiles chest holding him close. Stiles had his head twisted slightly, looking up at Derek’s lips as if readying to give Derek a kiss. They looked like a couple. They looked happy. It was everything Stiles wanted and couldn’t have. In the end it was nothing but Stiles imagination. 

Angrily he threw the pencil across the room he wanted to throw the book too but he just couldn’t. No I held too many of his secret desires and hopeless dreams. It was a shrine to his broken heart. 

Now he needed to get over Derek, to find someone who would love him back. No more impossible loves. He was done. There had to be someone out there who could love Stiles, I mean come on. He was sort of smart and rocked the geek look and he liked both girls and guys. It could be that hard to fall in love with some who wanted him back.

With a deep sigh he fell back on the bed looking up at the stars stuck to the ceiling, no longer glowing in the faint daylight. Why did he have to be so damn complicated and weird. Damn being normal couldn’t be that hard.

Now he needed to glue his smashed heart back together and move on. If he could get over Lydia he could get over Derek (well after he managed to make that sound believable that was. Perhaps if he said it enough he would start to believe it himself.) 

Suddenly the lack of sleep caught up with him, Stiles just slithered a little down the bed, not even bothering to pull the blanket over himself. He just stuffed a pillow under his head and fell asleep. 

He didn’t know how long he slept, it could have been minutes or it could have been days. The only thing he knew was that it wasn’t enough and whatever had woken him up needed to die a very slow and painful death. Just as soon as Stiles had gotten some more sleep that was. (Because Stiles Stilinski was not a morning person. At all!) 

The creaking of his bed made Stiles jump and fall of his bed, landing in a heap on limps and discarded sweatshirts. Not really awake he just stared at the ceiling blinking a few times utterly confused. 

“Ow” he said while trying to get his brain back online because this was just wrong and there was something he should be noticing. Suddenly he saw Derek leaning over the edge of his bed, looking down at him. 

“For a dream this is pretty painful,” he muttered confused. 

“Stiles you’re not dreaming.” Derek huffed exasperated. 

“What are you doing in my bed then? Is this a nightmare? You going to slaughter me in my childhood bedroom, because that would be a new one,” Stiles muttered a little confused. Normally Stiles dreams involving Derek and his bed were a little more.. steamy? Non PG in the best of way was perhaps a better description. 

“Dammit Stiles this is not a nightmare, and believe me if I were to slaughter you in your bed I would have done so years ago. Sure would have made my life easier on occasion,” he grumbled annoyed. “I was actually hoping  to talk to you but you seem to be uncooperative,” Derek snapped. 

“You made me fall out of bed,” Stiles accused still a little sleepy. 

“I didn’t,” Derek huffed, “now are this going to become anymore more intelligent or are you going to be down there all day?” 

“Shush, don’t get your wolf panties in a twist,” Stiles muttered as he got of the floor. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said stumbling to the bathroom. He needed clean teeth and some cold water in his face if Derek Hale expected anything rational out of him today. 

Stupid Alpha, Derek was just as little of a morning person as Stiles. Though it had helped after Stiles had ‘suggested’ he got that big nice bed he was now the proud owner of. 

After a few minutes Stiles returned to the room feeling a little more awake. His heart stopped as he saw Derek sitting on his bed, legs folded beneath him as he was leafing through the ‘secret’ sketchbook. 

“That’s private,” Stiles hissed, panic clear in his voice. Derek looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“You drew these,” Derek sounded surprised, well who wouldn’t finding out one of your friend had drawn you naked on several occasions, in several different positions mind you. “Why?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t anymore, I promise,” Stiles pleaded as he walked closer, suddenly very conscious that he was still only wearing his boxers. “Just forget about it, please.” 

“I don’t understand.” Derek said. He had stopped leafing through the book, his eyes looked on the last drawing, the one Stiles had only finished this morning. Ironically the most decent yet intimate drawing Stiles had ever made. 

“Okay don’t hate me I might have sort of a crush on you. I tried to stop it but couldn’t. Drawing you helped. Getting it out of my mind. But I know you don’t feel that way so I’ll get over it. I rather be your friend-“ 

“How do you know how I feel,” Derek interrupted (Rude!). 

“Erh I don’t. But you’re straight and if you were otherwise inclines I think I would have been told. You know Scott can’t keep a secret from me.” Stiles rambled trying to locate a shirt. Only for some reason there were none on the floor close to him. The only thing was the sweatshirt lying on the other side of the bed, ironically right next to Derek. (Why had he cleaned his room again?) 

“I'm actually pansexual, most born wolves are, but since I haven’t dated anyone since I got here none of the pack knows. Didn’t really feel like telling them whom I prefer to date to be honest since that is none of your business,” Derek said in a tone that made Stiles feel like he was five years old and about an inch tall. 

“Oh,” was all Stiles was able to mutter. Derek had actually made him speechless. Who would have known that was even possible. 

“Yeah, oh.” Derek said getting up from the bed, gently placing the book on the nightstand. “But what you need to understand is that wolves work differently. Our preferences doesn’t matter,” he was getting awfully close to Stiles who could only stare at the man before him. (He was not getting distracted by Dereks biceps stretching the sleeve of his black t-shirt to the limit. He wasn’t. Not even a little bit!) 

“You left,” Derek suddenly whispered. “ I woke up thinking you’d be close and you were gone. No one knew where you were. You just left, Stiles.” Derek was now standing right before Stiles, so close it would only take a small push and their lips would meet. 

“I couldn’t stay, I would have cuddled up against you or something. Might have taken advantage of you in your sleep. “ Stiles really wanted to shut up and move away from Derek but he kind of couldn’t move. (Who would have know that Derek in close proximity turned off his internal filter. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Derek was already a walking lie detector.) 

“Wait what do you mean your preferences doesn’t matter?” apparently Stiles brain had finally decided to join the party. 

“When we meet our mate it really doesn’t matter if they are of one sex or another. The wolf doesn’t care,” Derek muttered, his eyes flickering briefly to Stiles mouth before returning to his eyes.   

“And what relevance would that have to the present conversation,” Stiles said trying to ignore how his heart was beating faster, hammering away in his chest. 

“You’re my mate Stiles,” Derek whispered, “So shut up.” And then Stiles brain short-circuited because Derek was suddenly kissing him. And oh god it was better than he thought he would be.

Derek’s stubble was rasping gently against his cheeks and his lips were surprisingly soft.  Stiles gasped and Derek took the opportunity to dive his tongue into Stiles mouth driving him absolutely crazy. 

When Derek pulled away (way too quickly I you asked Stiles) he was smirking down at him. “So are we on the same page now?” 

“When did this happen,” Stiles asked yes glued to Derek’s lips trying to figure out how to get them closer. 

“I’ve known since the pool. Just wanted to wait until you were eighteen before I made a move. I know the age difference isn’t that big but some will still have issues. And I thought you didn’t really like me that way. But then I saw your drawings of us and I saw that you think of the pack of family. I wanted that so much,” he pulled Stiles closer, hugging him tight and nuzzling his neck.    

“And then I came here to find out why you ran and I saw that book over there,” he whispered lips dragging over Stiles ears making Stiles shiver. “And I realized you want it just as bad as me.” 

“Uh,” Stiles mind was scrambled beyond recognition. “Does this mean you wanna date?” 

“No,” Derek said and Stiles could feel his heart dropped in confusion, “It means I want you to be my mate, my lover, my anchor and never have to wake up without you again. You’re my mate you belong with me,” he said pulling away from Stiles neck and kissing him soundly. 

“Okay?” Derek said after the kiss looking down at the dreamingly smiling Stiles. 

“I'm dreaming, definitely dreaming. Ouch, why the hell did you do that,” Stiles yelled as he jumped out of Derek’s arms rubbing his arm where Derek had just pinched him. 

“Proved you weren’t dreaming,” Derek deadpanned,   

“Well stop it, that hurt,” Stiles hissed still rubbing the sore spot on his arm. “Seriously what is it with you and violence. Come on dude I'm just human. Gotta be careful-“ Stiles suddenly stopped mid sentence and looked up at Derek. His features suddenly becoming blank. 

“What do you mean that you’ve known since the pool,” he asked emotionless. 

Derek suddenly looked a little sheepish. “Well, when the Kamima appeared the only thing I could think about was getting you to safety. Everything else didn’t matter and then after I was paralyzed and you threw me into the water,” he said sternly lifting on perfect eyebrow. 

“Hey that was an accident! I tried to get you away from the giant lizard. Give me some credit dude I'm only human. I don’t have big bad werewolf powers though guy,” Stiles snapped. 

Derek just huffed before continuing. “And then you held me up even if I said I didn’t trust you and you risked your own life keeping me alive. My wolf was tearing me apart from the inside wanting to protect you while my whole body was screaming that I couldn’t trust you. It was almost a relief when you released me and I fell to the bottom. Because I had never expected anything else.” Stiles didn’t like how sad Derek sounded like he truly thought he didn’t deserve anything else. 

“But then you had to go change my world,” Derek said looking at Stiles with wonder, one hand caressing his cheek. “Because you came back. You dived down to get me and then held me up, even after your own body began to give up you tried to keep me up. You risked your own life you idiotic human.” Derek was so impossible close making the anger in Stiles weaver but he was damned if he was just going to let this go. 

“And then you really changed it all. You called the kanima an abomination and I understood that you accepted werewolves. You don’t think we are freaks of nature. No you see us as people.” Derek’s hand on Stiles face was very, very distracting. (So was Derek’s lips, and eyes and- okay Derek in general was just a distraction, damn hot werewolves.) 

“You should have told me,” Stiles hissed. 

“Would you have believed me? Stiles I never saw any signs of you feeling the same way. Never. You don’t understand how much I wanted you but you seemed so indifferent,” Derek looked away. 

“And you deserve better. I'm older and ruined. You deserve a young happy human not a werewolf with trust issues and a fuck load of supernatural shit threatening me and risking your life. And you’re sixteen, Stiles. I know how fickle love can be at that age.” 

“That,” Stiles said seething, “is the the worst load of bullshit I have ever heard in my entire life. And I'm prone to spreading some serious shit myself sometimes. “ 

Derek opened his mouth to say something but Stiles slapped his hand over his mouth, as if trying to stuff them back down his throat. 

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything before I'm done,” he hissed. “I don’t give a fuck about you being a werewolf. Okay, my best friend is a werewolf and I love him like a brother. Suddenly spewing fur and fangs doesn’t change that!” Stiles yelled, quite pleased that his dad wasn’t home. He doubted he could have have missed any of this. The man had ears after all. 

“And how dare you,” Stiles continued to seethe, “How dare you dismiss my feeling as being inferior just because I'm sixteen. And for the record I'm one month away from seventeen so shut the fuck up Derek!” Derek was looking to him with raised eyebrows. The surprised and caught of guard kind. (Stiles enjoyed the rare display of eyebrow action. Honesty any kind of eyebrow that wasn’t angry or disapproving was rare when it came to Derek.) 

“I fucking love you all right so shut the fuck up and kiss me you mumph- ” Stiles suddenly found his lips sealed to Derek’s as he practically devoured him. 

“If you think I have forgiven you you’re sadly mistaken,” Stiles moaned as Derek’s lips traveled from his lips to his neck sucking a bruising mark into the creamy soft skin. 

“I think I have a few ideas to show you just how,” Derek bit Stiles’ neck lightly making his toes curl and moan like a porn star, “repentant I am,” Derek said releasing Stiles neck and dragging him the last few steps to the bed, pulling the more than willing Stiles after him as he plumped down on the narrow mattress. 

“Fuck Stiles,” Derek muttered between heated kisses that left Stiles as nothing more than a breathless puddle. Dear lord his imagination had nothing on Derek. This was so much better than anything Stiles could ever dream of. “I can smell you on the sheets,” he nibbled on Stiles earlobe his lips dragging lazily over them as he found a little spot just behind Stiles ear that made Stiles utter sounds he had previously thought himself incapable of. 

“You touched yourself, I can smell your cum on the sheets,” Derek whispered hot and heavy into Stiles ear, biting his ear lobe.  “Were you thinking of me?” 

“Mmmm,” Stiles moaned, nails digging into Derek’s back as their bodies was mashed together. their cocks rubbing slightly against each other making them both moan desperately. “God yes, i did haven’t thought of anyone else in months.” Derek rumbled deep in his chest at Stiles words, only making Stiles cock strain harder against the soft cotton of his boxers. 

Derek was everywhere. Or so Stiles rather muddled brain decided, because his entire body was burning in an exciting mixture of leftover anger and desire. It felt like a forests fire had erupted beneath his skin and was doing it best to consume him. 

“God Derek, please..” Stiles arched his back as Derek’s bit his nipple “Lose the goddamn shirt!” 

“Should have know you were bossy in bed,” Derek muttered but got up throwing the shirt away revealing the mouthwatering abs Stiles had been fantasizing about for weeks now. 

“Derek I swear I could grate carrot of those,” Stiles sighed before practically attacking Derek making them collapse back into the twisted sheets in an awkward puddle. 

“Stiles seriously if I didn’t love you I would have you admitted,” Derek mumbles against Stiles neck, earning himself a hard pinch in the side. 

“Shut up, I'm your mate behave or I push you back out the window,” Stiles said kissing Derek’s lips trying to persuade Derek’s belt to magically disappear and his pant to evaporate. (Because is was so not fair that Stiles was the only one undressed.) 

“God help me,” Derek muttered as he ripped the belt off pushing his pants down. “I'm gonna have grey hair by the time I turn thirty.” 

“Oh shut it,” Stiles huffed biting Derek’s left pectoral, just above his heart. “Just fuck me.” 

Derek stopped the awkward maneuvering of his pants the rest of the way off to look up at Stiles with big eyes. 

“You do want to right?” Stiles asked a little nervous after a few moments in silence. Derek was still looking at Stiles with wide eyes. 

Suddenly Derek ripped his pants off, the sound of tearing denim cutting through the silence, and then he was on Stiles, hand skirting over his body as it was lying there spread out beneath Derek on the tousled sheets. 

“Yes,” Derek whispered as his hand dived into Stiles boxers getting a firm hold on his aching cock that was leaking in desperation. “I want to fuck you till you can’t walk, and them I want to suck you off.” 

“Dammit Derek,” Stiles sobbed as Derek’s thump ran over this slit, smearing precum all over the soft swollen flesh. “Just get on with it.” 

“Boxers off,” Derek whispered, pulling away from Stiles and making the young man whine. Derek didn’t go far he only learned over to pull out a bottle of lube from Stiles bedside table. (Stiles really didn’t wanna know how he knew that is was there.) 

Stiles had never moved so fast in his entire life, in a second his boxers was hanging from the lamp on his desk. Derek just lifted an eyebrow before dropping his own in a slightly more dignified manner, though almost as desperate. 

“Eager are we,” he whispered against Stiles ear, pouring lube into his hand. 

“I'm sixteen, a virgin and have been jerking off to nothing but thoughts of your grumpy self  this the last two months, yes I think we can say I'm eager,” Stiles snapped biting Derek’s pec again, hating that the mark disappeared almost instantly. 

Derek only response was a strangled moan and a kiss that robbed Stiles of all logical thinking, leaving his mind pleasantly blank for once. 

Stiles almost arched of the bed as Derek’s lubed fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding slowly and teasingly up and down the straining length. 

“Oh god…” Stiles moaned. “Derek please-” his prayer was cut of a Derek’s cock slid against Stiles the feeling much better than he thought it would be. Derek’s hand was wrapped around both of them; his grip firm and achingly slow. 

“Please, please, please” Stiles begged, “More Derek, fuck me, please.” All thought of dignity had evaporated the moment Derek’s cock touched Stiles own. (He was certainly not beneath begging if it would get that glorious cock inside him.) 

“Not now,” Derek hissed as his hand sped up, jerking them faster, his hips thrusting shallowly in time with Stiles’. “When I fuck you it’ll be in my bed,” he moaned. 

“Have you any idea what torture it was to see you lie there on that bed, forcing me to buy it.” Derek gave a hard thrust, pushing Stiles hard into the bed. “All I could think of when I got it home was you. I’ve been imagining you in that bed with me ever since I moved in. And now my sheets smells of you,” he moaned. 

“I don’t want my sheets to ever smell like anything but you and me ever again,” he sighed grabbing them both harder. Stiles could feel the pull in his stomach that warned him his orgasm was imminent and he tried to urge Derek on, needing more. 

“And once I’ve fucked you,” Derek hissed strangled against Stiles ear, “I want you to fuck me.” 

The orgasm crashed through Stiles like a lightning strike, his release poured out between their bodies and his back arched off the bed. A loud shout ripping free from his throat as the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced tore through his body leaving nothing but sated limp muscles in it wake. 

I a dace Stiles watched as Derek jerked himself off from above, his eyes burning into Stiles, not leaving him for a second. 

“Cum for me Derek,” Stiles said hoarsely, a strange joy spreading in his body Derek moaned above him, spilling his release over Stiles stomach and chest, their cum mixing in small puddles all over Stiles lower body. 

“God Stiles,” Derek moaned and collapsed beside him, immediately cuddling up to Stiles side, his head resting on his shoulder as he lazily mixed their cum on Stiles stomach and continued to spread to all over him. 

“That should so gross me out,” Stiles muttered.

“To bad,” Derek muttered, “you accepted me as you mate you’re stuck with me now. Forever.” 

“Well I guess someone had to take that burden, I guess I have suffer,” Stiles couldn’t help but tease. 

“Oh shut it,” Derek huffed tweaking Stiles nipple in revenge. 

“Stop it,” Stiles hissed, “don’t hurt the human mate.” 

“Never,” Derek said solemnly pushing himself up to look down at Stiles. 

“No you wouldn't, not on purpose” Stiles said caressing Derek’s cheek leaning up to give his lips a chaste kiss. “I won’t hurt you either. Not not purpose anyway,” Stiles whispered solemnly. He knew far too much of Derek’s past to ever hurt him. 

“I love you Derek,” Stiles smiled happy to finally get to say the word that had been burning his tongue for weeks. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“I love you too, Stiles,” Derek smiled kissing Stiles again. Before digging up a shirt from the floor cleaning them up a bit. (Stiles couldn’t really determine whose it was but he really didn’t care right about now.After they was just lying there as the sun continued to fill the room with light. 

“So how fast do you think we can freak Scott out?” Stiles asked suddenly. 

“No more than a week,” Derek replied chuckling. “Otherwise I just leave that book on the coffee table and the nosy bastards will learn to keep their nose to themselves.” 

“Hey that is my art you talking about,” Stiles huffed. 

“Sure, love. Just call that art.” 

“Oh shut it, you love it.” 

“Yes I do,” Derek said softly kissing Stiles cheek, “the last one though is mine. And as soon as I'm done with you here is is going in a frame and right on my nightstand.” 

“Oh really” Stiles smiled. 

“Yeah. I want a drawing of me and my mate.” He nudges Stiles cheek with his nose before whispering in his ear; “It is also the reason why I have you now.” 

“You’re such a sap,” Stiles muttered. 

“Yeah but I'm your sap.” 

“Yes, mine,” Stiles said turning to his side. “And only mine.” 

“Yours,” Derek said turning to Stiles and kissing him deeply, “forever.”

 

* * *

 

Several years later that drawing of Stiles and Derek still stood on the nightstand on Derek’s side of the bed. Even after Stiles had filled their house with drawings of the pack and the two of them and their two adopted kids, that little smudgy drawing, made in the early hours of a summer morning by a boy with a broken heart, remained Derek’s favorite. 

Because in the end he always thought it was the final piece that brought him the man sleeping in his arms every night.  His lover, his mate and his husband. 

Stiles still thought he was a sap. 

But he was Stiles sap. 

(And Stiles maybe still have a little black book hidden under the bed filled with even more lewd drawings of Derek. Only these were made with a reference and much the better for it. Oh, and nothing turned them both on as much as a drawing session with a happy ending. Really what was an artist to do with such an inspiring subject? It was all in the name of art. Or so Stiles said whenever he tried to create a likeness of the love of his life. And really that ass was too nice not to preserve on paper.)

 

 

The end....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long but here it is. I really hope you liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one-shot that kind of took over and became really long, so now I've spit it up. This is unbetaed and Im not a native speaker so i apologize for any mistakes, if you find anyone too grave please say so I can fix them.
> 
> If you ever want to you can find me on tumbler Im also hopeless-ships over there and I also on occasion spread nonsense on twitter...


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